


Armageddon

by My_Alter_Ego



Series: White Collar Discussions [13]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Psychological Hurt/Comfort, deadly virus, epidemic, the Final Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:40:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21705364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Alter_Ego/pseuds/My_Alter_Ego
Summary: Peter and Neal fall victim to a deadly virus that seems to be running rampant in New York City. While quarantined together in a hospital staring death in the face, some things are finally laid on the table that would never otherwise have been said.
Relationships: Elizabeth Burke/Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey & Mozzie, Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Series: White Collar Discussions [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1472945
Comments: 10
Kudos: 48





	Armageddon

The mysterious invader seemed to crop up out of nowhere. One minute a metropolis of eight and a half million people was humming along to its normal New York rhythm, and then the calamity struck, swift and lethal. People were becoming desperately ill and flooding the city’s emergency rooms with respiratory symptoms that worsened with amazing speed. No one was spared, not the young nor the old, or previously healthy individuals. At first, the beleaguered treating physicians thought they may have been dealing with a rogue flu strain that resembled SARS, the culprit which had wreaked medical havoc in China during the last decade. It had been a catastrophic epidemic that affected over 8,000 victims and claimed almost 800 lives before it was contained. Calls were placed to the Center For Disease Control based in Atlanta, and isolation precautions were immediately implemented in health care facilities as the sick staggered in.

Of course, word spread like wildfire, thanks to the media, and frightened people could be seen riding the subways, buses, and trains with paper masks over their noses and mouths. That was like trying to stem the flood by putting a finger in a dike’s crack. People kept becoming ill and succumbing, and the mortuaries were hard-pressed to carry out funeral arrangements for bereaved and bewildered family survivors.

Eventually, Broadway theaters, movie houses, symphony halls, museums, and sports arenas were temporarily closed, and New York lost massive revenue when tourists stayed away from the Big Apple in droves. The CDC finally declared that this scary phenomenon had become an out-of-control epidemic, and city officials met with the medical experts behind closed doors to find ways to contain it. However, in this day and age of easy travel from place to place, that seemed an impossibility.

Another mandate of the Center For Disease Control was to discover where this new deadly virus had originated. They had to find Patient Zero. Tracking backwards from the affected people seeking treatment for an upper respiratory infection, they hit on one person who possibly could have been the very first to become infected. He was an epidemiology researcher who had a day job with New York’s Department of Public Health. He had impeccable credentials—several degrees that included biology and chemistry, and a PhD in virology. He had been awarded a grant by Johns Hopkins University, his original alma mater, to formulate possible new retrovirals. That unfortunate researcher had been the first fatality.

Peter and Neal remained at their posts as frightened citizens with the wherewithal and the means hastily fled the city. However, each man took their own precautions regarding their loved ones. Peter had bustled El into the car and sent her on her way to stay with her parents in New England. Neal made sure that Mozzie joined June on a jet flying to France before the outbound planes from New York City had been grounded. Since the FBI was the first to be made aware of the identity of suspected Patient Zero, they used their resources to quickly came up with the location of his residence and home laboratory.

“Let’s go take a look at what this guy called his workshop,” Peter said to Neal that day. “Maybe we can do our part to figure this strange situation out.”

“Do you think he may have been some bioterrorist who wanted to create a superbug that he could unleash on the West to cause a pandemic?” Neal asked grimly.

“There’s always that possible scenario, I guess,” Peter answered. “But he was actually the first one to die, so maybe not.”

“Terror zealots have no problem sacrificing themselves for their cause,” Neal reminded his partner.

“You could be right, but let’s just see what we see when we get there,” Peter shrugged. “If he had an agenda, maybe he left a manifesto behind. We’re supposed to meet a CDC doc on site in less than an hour, so let’s get a move on.”

The pair left Manhattan and crossed over a familiar bridge that would take them to Brooklyn. Their destination was a small, nondescript detached house on a quiet street. Peter shuddered at the close proximity to his own home. Even though the owner was deceased, Peter didn’t feel right breaking the lock and entering the premises in case a relative or an acquaintance may have been inside. Thankfully, Neal was very accommodating with his lock picks, and cracked open the entrance with practiced ease. Their calls of “Hello, FBI!” went unheeded, so they quickly searched what seemed to be a spartan bachelor pad. The basement, on the other hand, was another story entirely. The underground room was quite well-stocked with all the latest scientific equipment crammed into the space. Besides several microscopes, a small refrigerator, an incubator, and a multitude of glass slides, petri dishes and test tubes, they also noted an industrial-size autoclave as well as a laminar flow hood that scientists used when they were handling hazardous material.

Trying to give the unknown chemicals a wide berth, Peter began perusing the scientist’s notes sitting conveniently out in the open. At first glance, it appeared that the researcher had meticulously archived his most recent experiments in great detail. The unfamiliar equations all looked like Greek to the FBI agent, and he was just turning around to say exactly that to Neal when he was abruptly startled by a small, black guided missile heading straight at his head. From somewhere on a nearby shelf, an angry cat had launched itself at what it considered to be an enemy intruder. Peter ducked and swatted at the pissed off feline. It tumbled clumsily onto the lab table causing test tubes to shatter across the floor with petri dishes growing God knows what joining the debris. Peter let out his breath in one long whoosh and got his heart rate back under control. Then he took out his phone. The next step was to inform the incoming CDC worker that it was dangerous for him to enter the premises which should now be considered a contaminated biohazard.

Within a short amount of time, a form of controlled chaos seemed to be taking place around that small house in Brooklyn. Peter and Neal were hustled off to a quarantined facility set up at Mt. Sinai Hospital in Manhattan. Afterwards, the house was enclosed in a massive Hazmat tent and the neighborhood was evacuated. A person from Animal Control, clad in a protective bio-suit complete with respirator, finally managed to corner and capture the cat. The poor creature was humanely euthanized so that an autopsy could be performed and lung tissue samples taken in case it was a vector for the uncontrollable pathogen. Then a form of sterilization gas was infused into the tent, and only after that was completed did a massive army of CDC workers begin removing everything from the contaminated lab to examine and analyze.

Peter and Neal found themselves sharing a two-bed room in a closed off wing of the hospital. Their clothes had been confiscated and now ugly backless gowns were the only thing covering their bodies. It seemed like every ten minutes medical workers garbed in isolation gear were taking their vital signs and drawing copious amounts of blood.

“It wasn’t as if that stupid cat sneezed on us,” Neal complained. “I think everybody is overreacting because I feel fine.”

“I guess time will tell,” Peter replied fatalistically. “The incubation period is supposed to be short, so I can only hope we’ll continue to feel fine.”

“I’ll bet you never thought you’d be confined and forced to share a cell with me,” Neal quipped. “How’s it feel to be an inmate?”

“Claustrophobic,” was Peter’s cynical response.

“Cowboy up, Agent Burke,” Neal retorted with a lopsided grin.

~~~~~~~~~~

Unfortunately, the state of feeling “fine” only lasted forty-eight hours. By day two, both Peter and Neal were spiking high temperatures and exhibiting a wet cough that portended the development of the type of pneumonia that had already claimed so many lives. Intravenous lines were started and antibiotics infused, but the downward spiral continued and the prognosis was very poor. Diana and Jones felt as helpless as the hospital workers as they stood outside in the hall and gazed through the glass walls at their boss and co-worker cocooned in a hermetically sealed room that had its ventilation system shunted through special hepa filters. Finally, one kind physician took pity on the quarantined patients and delivered a cell phone into the enclosure. Peter fumbled with the buttons through vision that was blurred. El answered on the first ring.

“Peter, how are you feeling? I should be there with you,” she murmured miserably through her tears.

“No, Hon, please stay away so you don’t get this damn virus,” her husband answered firmly.

Neal heard the heartache in Peter’s voice and turned on his side to face the wall. It was but a pitiful effort to provide his friend some privacy in this goldfish bowl setting.

“I love you, Peter,” El sobbed. “Please fight this thing with everything you’ve got,” she implored.

“I love you, too, Hon, and Neal and I are giving it our best shot,” was all Peter managed to get out before a fit of chest-gripping wheezing ended the conversation.

When he finally had recovered his breath, Peter addressed his roommate in a soft voice, “Neal, is there anyone you’d like to call?”

“Not really,” the young man answered quietly. “Mozzie and June already know how I feel about them.”

Peter drew a breath while ignoring the pain in his chest. “Look, Buddy, I know you have your secrets, but maybe now is not the time to play everything so close to the vest. You’ve never told me, but is there a mother or a father out there somewhere that you may want to speak to before it’s too late?”

Neal looked over at Peter. “The only other person who needs to know how I feel is lying just a few feet away. Maybe he already knows the important stuff, and when it’s time, I’ll be sure to say goodbye to him properly.”

Peter didn’t have a response to that moving statement which touched a chord in his heart. A little while later, Neal seemed to be rambling and Peter wondered if the high fever was responsible for a form of delirium. “Did you ever read about Armageddon in the Bible, Peter?”

“I find it hard to picture you reading a holy book of scriptures, Neal,” Peter remarked tiredly.

“That just shows how much you don’t know about me, Peter. I actually have very esoteric tastes, so, yeah, I read the Bible from cover to cover when I was younger,” Neal answered around a cough.

“I guess it didn’t take,” Peter whispered uncharitably.

Neal would have snorted if he had the stamina. “For your information, I considered it to be enlightening, especially the Old Testament which seemed like an ancient history book. Now, as for the New Testament, that may have a more biased slant depending on who was writing a chapter. But it was thought provoking, nonetheless, especially Revelations, the last book of the New Testament. That’s where Armageddon comes into play.”

“The end of the world,” Peter intoned solemnly.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Neal agreed weakly. All this hoarse talking was taking its toll on the physically compromised young man, but he was determined to get some things said and out in the open. “According to those scriptures, a huge battle would be taking place, probably a metaphorical allegory of good versus evil. I think this is our Armageddon, Peter. Time and time again, you’ve been the good guy and I’ve been your evil opponent. Maybe everything has come full circle and now we find ourselves in this situation. There’s always a price to pay for the things you do, even if they happened in the past.”

Peter feebly coughed up some mucus and was alarmed when flecks of blood dotted the tissue in his hand. “Neal, obviously you’re not thinking clearly because the fever is messing with your brain. You’re looking at this all wrong and trying to find a reason for something that was randomly out of our control. We’re sick because of a pathogen, not because of what happened all those years ago.”

Neal didn’t seem to hear the logic in Peter’s response. “I think it’s karma, pure and simple.”

Peter was becoming worried about Neal’s fatalistic outlook. He had to somehow steer him away from the ridiculous notion of shouldering the blame for the present situation.

“Neal, listen to me. We’re no longer adversaries waging a war. We’re on the same side now, fighting a common enemy. But even when I was chasing you, I realized you had a good and kind heart in spite of cavorting around spreading your mayhem. You were never wicked or malicious, and you never harmed another soul. You were not evil then, and you’re not evil now!”

When Neal remained stubbornly silent, Peter continued preaching. “When creating a new future, one shouldn’t get mired down in the distant past. During the last few years, I can say, with complete honesty, that I was proud and happy to have you in my life. We’ve had some good times together, Buddy.”

“But we’ve had some bad times, as well,” a very sick young man said softly.

“Yeah, that’s true. Have you ever regretted our partnership, Neal?”

There was another brief moment of silence before Neal answered. “Peter, I wouldn’t have traded these past years for anything.”

Peter managed a small smile and remained quiet, just enjoying Neal’s heartfelt admission until the con man spoke once again.

“It’s really ironic because I never thought this is how I’d go out,” Neal rasped around his inflamed throat. “I never expected to survive to be old, but somehow I thought that when my number was up, it would happen with a bang not a whimper. It’s almost embarrassing.”

“Typical Caffrey,” Peter mumbled fondly, “Always concerned about his image.”

“Well, sometimes that’s all you have in this world,” Neal said poignantly. Suddenly, Peter was overcome with pity for a young man who deserved so much better.

~~~~~~~~~~

By day three, Peter and Neal’s fevers were out of control and responding less and less favorably to antipyretics. There were more periods of disorientation than lucidity, and the outlook seemed bleak. During one brief interlude of clarity, the doctor heading up the team spoke to the two men and explained their findings.

“We have gone over everything recovered from the deceased researcher’s lab and have dissected his notes with a fine tooth comb. The best minds have weighed in from the Mayo Clinic, Johns Hopkins, UCLA, Mass General, and the National Institute of Health in Bethesda. They all have concluded that he was experimenting with finding a new vaccine for the modern day types of H1N1 viruses that all seemed to be a mutant type strain of the Spanish Flu that became a pandemic during World War I and decimated between 50 and 100 million people worldwide. Off shoots of that same virus have periodically manifested in our century with outbreaks of the Asian Flu, the Hong Kong flu, MERS, and the Avian flu, to name just a few. Now we classify influenzas as Type A, B, C, or D and we develop what we hope will be a vaccine to prevent them. It’s always a crapshoot, since these pathogens can alter their makeup causing the preventatives to lose their efficacy. Unfortunately, this researcher had specimens of some virulent influenza viruses on site and was growing more live cultures in the agar of his petri dishes. Those strains are something new because of the mutations that had taken place. Unfortunately, the poor guy must have accidentally infected himself with one of them.”

“Okay, I’m with you so far,” Peter rasped out over his swollen throat. “So we came in direct contact with this bug when the mishap occurred in his lab. The question now is have you got a magic bullet in your current arsenal to fight this thing?”

The physician was very forthcoming. “The research and development facilities in every pharmaceutical company around the world have decided to put their competitiveness and their closely held patents aside for the greater good. They have provided us with their latest clinical trial results, and one of Pfizer’s programs looks promising in combating cases of acquired virulent influenza quite close to this strain. The stumbling block is that their drug is still being used in a blind study on primates like chimps. It’s still early days, so the researchers haven’t been given the go-ahead by the FDA to try it out on human guinea pigs.”

“I like guinea pigs,” Neal’s weak voice chimed in. “They’re cute and cuddly like me. I’d be willing to take the risk. I mean, it’s not as if I have anything left to lose.”

“Count me in, as well,” Peter seconded the motion.

“Now, gentleman, you realize that we have no idea of any side effects or if it would even work at this late date,” the physician said in a serious tone.

“Will a verbal okay suffice,” Peter cut him off. “I’m not sure that either Neal or I are capable of holding a pen right now.”

“I’ll have the experimental drug delivered immediately,” the doctor acquiesced. “It’s really going to be Russian Roulette trying to titrate the proper dosage to use on a human being. We may end up doing more harm than good, I’m afraid. Are you really serious with your answer?”

“Deadly serious,” Peter murmured.

When the doctor had walked away, Peter tried to turn his head towards Neal. “It looks like whatever happens will happen to both of us. We’ll either both live to see another day or die together.”

“You’ll probably get a posthumous award from the Bureau for meritorious service that will be prominently displayed on the wall in White Collar,” Neal mumbled tiredly. “My little team of two will celebrate my premature passing in June’s parlor cracking open a bottle of expensive champagne and raising a glass in my honor. Seems fitting, somehow.”

“It ain’t over ‘til it’s over, Buddy,” Peter whispered.

~~~~~~~~~~

That was almost a prophetic statement because, by day four, it was just about over. Both Peter and Neal were so compromised by the raging pneumonia, the physicians had to sedate the pair and intubate them. Now a ventilator was the only thing pushing oxygen into their congested lung fields. As a last ditch effort, chest tubes were being considered to drain off some of the fluid which had accumulated within the tissues.

“Are we watching them die?” Diana asked in a voice she tried to keep from cracking as she stood in the hospital corridor and peered into the isolation room. Jones, standing beside her, couldn’t give her an answer. When the usually tough female agent got her emotions under control, she corralled a physician, flashed her credentials, and demanded answers.

“Agent Berrigan, I know you are very worried,” the doctor responded tiredly. “We started the experimental drug twelve hours ago, but we haven’t seen any improvement as yet. My colleagues and I have discussed increasing the dosage in the hopes of attaining a more therapeutic level, but, in reality, we are deep into uncharted territory.”

“It’ll work!” Jones suddenly spoke up with conviction, even if it was only to buoy up his own state of mind. “It has to work because those two men just cannot die.”

“Well, if it does work, then every drug manufacturer worldwide will begin producing it as fast as they can,” the doctor answered. “We’ll begin dispensing it to patients at the first sign of a respiratory issue.”

“In the meantime, Doc, you have to go for broke,” Diana demanded. “Peter and Neal would want you to go full steam ahead because it’s their only chance.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Day five for the morbidly ill patients was still precarious, but by day six, there seemed to be some light at the end of the tunnel. The two men were no longer febrile and their oxygen saturation monitors showed a slight improvement. Miraculously, the heavy-duty antibiotics had managed to dig in and attack the stubborn microbes in their lungs. The progress was measured in hours rather than days, and after just 24 of those hours had elapsed, the hovering physicians chanced lightening the sedation and removing the endotracheal tubes that had been placed in Peter and Neal’s throats. The two men could now breathe on their own!

It took another night and part of the next morning for the two partners to find their way back through the dark maze of oblivion. Peter was the first to regain his equilibrium, mentally process his journey through hell, and remember that he hadn’t been alone. He turned his head so that his worried eyes could hastily scan the second bed. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Neal, looking pale and weak, resting comfortably with his eyes closed.

“Neal?” he hissed anxiously.

“Still here, Peter,” came the soft reply.

Peter tried to smile. “So, I guess we didn’t die.”

“Nope, not dead,” Neal agreed. “It appears as if we’re still joined at the hip.”

“Yeah, we are—just like the Lone Ranger and Tonto,” Peter said fondly.

“Maybe more like Smokey and the Bandit,” his young partner snarked.

Peter furrowed his brow in thought. “Maybe we should go with Starsky and Hutch, or Riggs and Murtaugh.”

Suddenly a voice outside the glass walls spoke up. “Oh, come on! You two are definitely Laverne and Shirley!”

Peter and Neal slowly swiveled their heads around to see Mozzie standing in the corridor with Elizabeth by his side.

“Moz, you shouldn’t be here. I told you to leave town,” Neal said worriedly.

“You are not the boss of me, mon frère,” the little bald man said airily. “I am a free spirit and do as I please.”

Peter, on the other hand, wasn’t into scolding his beautiful wife. “Hon,” was all he could breathe out lovingly.

“Hon,” she answered as relieved tears of happiness slipped down her cheeks.

“I love you, El,” Peter said with his own eyes misting over.

“And I love you, Peter,” the grateful and devoted young woman murmured.

Neal’s raised his eyebrows and his gaze was now on Mozzie. He seemed to be waiting for the little bald dynamo to provide some sort of similar emotional response.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Mozzie protested. “Don’t even go there, Neal!”


End file.
